What to do about Elvis
by Zelda Ophelia
Summary: Magnificent Seven ATF AU /Stephanie Plum crossover. Reposted from the Mag7Challenge group and The Archive. A tip brings the seven to Trenton in search of a fugitive.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Chris was just behind Vin when he opened the door to his apartment. He didn't like that his friend refused to lock the place, but he understood why. A teenager was on the computer, printing off what appeared to be homework when they walked in.

"Hey, Senor Vin. I am nearly finished with my report." Chris recognized the girl as Rosa, who lived down the hall from his teammate. "I vacuumed for you, also. The phone rang, but I didn't answer it since you don't want us to. The guy sounded spooky." She grabbed the last paper as the printer spit it out and let herself out the door.

Spooky was not how Chris wanted to hear phone calls to Vin described. Spooky generally meant that someone was going to show up with a big gun and try to kill his teammates. Spooky was not good.

Vin ambled over to his answering machine and pressed the button. That was about all he knew about the thing, he hadn't wanted to get it, but Chris had insisted. Thankfully JD had helped him set it up, 'course JD had helped nearly everyone on the team get their answering machine set up. He could hear the machine whir a bit, then the message started.

"Yo." The voice had a slight accent and Vin's eyebrows raised in astonishment. He hadn't expected to get a response this quickly, especially when the word he got was that his contact was in Puerto Rico. "I hear you're looking for someone. Colleague of mine's looking for his cousin. Try Trenton, Jersey. Let me or Tank know when you get there, I should get back in a few." The message clicked off.

"What was that all about?" Chris asked him, arms folded across his chest.

"The case. Ya know I said I had some contacts? That's one of them. If'n he says ta try Trenton, we go ta Trenton. At least I do."

"Do you trust him?"

Vin thought for a moment. "More then anyone else in that business. He's got a more creative approach ta crime fighting, and he usually only shoots the bad guys."

Chris shook his head; this really wasn't what he wanted to hear. He could feel the muscle in his forehead ticking and glared at Vin. "So, do you trust him or not? I'm not sending my team into a possible trap."

"Ya know that info I got on Eli Joe? He's the one that got it ta me. He knew I was innocent, and he kept his ears open for anythin' that could help me prove it. I trust him."

"Good, you call the guys, and I'll call AD Travis. We're going to Trenton."


	2. Divine Intervention, err, Distraction

Tuna fish was not what I had in mind for breakfast. But this was leftover from the casserole Mom made last night, and was the only food I had, so I finished it up and tossed Rex few of the cornflakes that had fallen off the top. The fridge was empty now, which meant one of two things: either I'd have to take Ranger up on his newest offer of a job, or go see if Vinnie had anything for me. My money, the buck ninety-two I currently had, was on Vinnie. After all, the last time I worked for Ranger every vehicle I had was destroyed. Rather, every vehicle Ranger loaned me, and I've decided that I didn't want to know how he got them, blew up.

Still, anything Ranger loaned out to me - usually new Town Cars or BMWs, as well as a few Jeep Grand Cherokees - had to be better than the Buick. Granted my sister Valerie was driving the Buick right now, but it had been my set of wheels to fall back on when my car blew up or caught on fire or was totaled in some other way. Which has been happening all too frequently since I went to work for Vinnie. My cousin Vinnie is the crown gall on my family tree, a sleazy growth that'd rather play hide-the-salami with his newest filing clerk than work. I'm Stephanie Plum, bond apprehension agent, AKA bounty hunter extradionare. I work for Vinnie, finding the scumbuckets he bails when they don't show up for their court date. I keep my gun in the cookie jar, my tazer in my purse and tend to go through cars like some men go through women.

Rex had apparently decided that soggy corn flakes were not his idea of breakfast. After sniffing at them a few times, he turned up his nose and went back to sleep in his soup can. Nothing like being snubbed by your pet hamster.

I grabbed the keys for my latest acquisition, an old black Dodge. I've learned the hard way that expensive is not the way to go, though they make much more impressive explosions than old and crappy. These days I just look for something that moves, and is, hopefully, indestructible. Like Big Blue, though I refuse to drive that Buick if I don't have to.

To say I was surprised to see Joe Morelli drive into the parking lot as I got out there wouldn't be exactly truthful. Especially when I saw what could only be Bob hanging his head out the window and slobbering on the pavement. I knew what Morelli wanted even before he got out of his truck. And this time it wasn't sex.

"Let me guess, Bob's been eating the furniture again."

"Not exactly, cupcake. I've got a meeting I got to go to and Bob can't come along. My neighbor who usually dogsits is out of town and my mom refuses to watch Bob for me. He ate the doilies off her couch the last time we were there." Morelli's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"What about Mooch?" Hey, I had to try.

"You're the one who foisted him on me in the first place. Why can't you take him?" It was true, though another cop that he worked with had suckered me into taking Bob. Still, the big oaf had kinda grown on me. I had been just about ready to rip Mitchell's heart out with my bare hands when he had tried to dognap him. These days, though, Bob lived with Morelli. I don't blame him; he's got a backyard, nice neighbors and a heck of a lot less bullets flying after him there.

"I'm going to Vinnie's," I brightened at that thought. The last time I took Bob to Vinnie's someone else's car caught fire, so maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. "But I can probably take him. Lula and Connie'll have to hide all the donuts though."

He gave me that look, the one that says 'I really don't like that idea' all the while it's melting your insides into goo. Joe Morelli is every woman's dream come true, probably has more numbers in his little black book than Heidi Fleiss and was, at one time engaged to me. That was until a few more people started shooting at me than he could handle, which is a bit sad for a cop. He didn't like my job and I didn't like him telling me what to do with my job. Once we got past the engagement thing, and a few other people started shooting at me, things between us got better. Now we're back to that old undefined gray area (which is kind of the way I like it these days).

"They'll have to hide more than just the donuts. You don't mind, cupcake? I can pick him up later."

"Don't worry; he'll keep me and Rex company."

"Thanks, Steph." He enticed Bob out of the cab of the truck, handed me his lead while kissing me soundly and jumped back in. He had peeled out of the lot before I came out of my daze.

Men. I'll never figure them out.

I didn't reach Vinnie's until near eleven, but that didn't matter as long as they had some files for me. That's one thing I like about this job, I can work my own hours. It's the whole bad guys shooting at me that I just can't get used to. Lula's Firebird was parked out in the lot, so I knew that my trusty sidekick was in. She's Vinnie's newest and longest employed file clerk, hired when the last one quit after refusing to play hide-the-salami. Lula's a former prostitute who got caught in the crossfire in my first case. Vinnie's clerk quit about the time Lula got out of the hospital, so she decided to get off the street corner and grabbed the job. She's big, black and loud, both verbally and in how she dresses. Her hair color changes every week and she tends to wear a lot of spandex and fake fur. Personally, I think Vinnie's too scared of her to try anything. Not to mention that she's my friend and he knows that I'll tell Lucille, his wife, about the "duck incident". Lucille would tell her father, Harry the Hammer, and – well, we won't go into what Harry would do to Vinnie.

Connie was adding more mascara to her already caked up eyelashes when I walked in. Lula was sitting on the couch, sharing the details of her weekend, and Lord knows that it was probably better than mine. Mine consisted of taking Grandma Mazur to Stiva's Funeral Home for the Saturday showing. Anything is more exciting than seeing dead people laid out at a mortician's. Especially with Stiva hanging over your shoulder to make sure you don't burn the place down - again.

"Have anything for me?" I joined Lula on the couch, keeping a close eye on Bob. If he was going to start eating furniture I was going to have to banish him to the truck. I didn't think he could eat the seats in it.

"Got one that just came in. Lucky for you Joyce's not been here yet. It's a big one, but Ranger's in Puerto Rico doing a trace for us, so it's all yours."

"What is it?" I tried to ignore Bob's drooling all over the plastic plant; it was expendable if you asked me.

"His name is James 'Elvis' Postolli." She handed me his file, complete with picture, and I got to know Mr. Postolli a little better. His stock in trade, Elvis impersonations with a twist. The most recent twist had been a double performance - robbing his employers, as well as the guests at their little soiree, at gunpoint just after a rousing rendition of "Blue Suede Shoes." Apparently he didn't think he could afford a new pair. Unfortunately for him, he had set up before his act a little stand with his business cards to generate new customers. While I doubt he'll be singing the blues at any blowouts anytime soon, the police did enjoy that little fact. And Vinnie, being Vinnie, probably enjoyed the money that Elvis Postolli was going to generate for him – Vinnie gets fifteen percent of every bond he signs off on. Unless the suspect runs, then Vinnie has to forfeit the money to the court if he isn't caught, or ten percent of the bond to me if I catch him.

"Looks good to me, I'll head over to the address he gave and see if he's there." I grabbed Bob's leash and pulled him out the door.

As it closed I pretended to not hear Lula's exclamation. "Hey, what happened to the plant?"

But, for some reason, I wasn't at all surprised to see some dried Spanish moss hanging from Bob's lower lip when I helped him into the truck.

Mr. Postolli's house was dark when I got there, and since none of the blinds were drawn I could pretty much tell that he wasn't there. Okay, so I went and looked in the windows. If Lula had come with me we'd probably be finding a conveniently 'broken' window about now. But she wasn't and I really didn't want to come across Elvis and his gun on my own. Call me a wimp, but I'm not a fool.

I pulled out the pack of TastyKakes that I had swiped off Connie's desk - she'll thank me for eating them for her later - and shared them with Bob. He had inhaled the iced cupcake before I had mine out of the package, so I ate it quickly before he could try to sucker me out of it. There wasn't much else in Elvis's file to go on, so I waited and watched the place, hoping for some divine intervention.

While I wouldn't exactly call it divine – well I would, but not that kind of divine – a diversion, at least, came. In the form of two rental cars, one a mini-van, the other a truck that mine could only hope to be. Out of which came seven, count them seven, of the most divine images of manhood I'd ever seen, not counting Morelli or Ranger. Even the young one, who I knew my nieces would be drooling over like one of those boy band singers, was good looking. The dangerous looking blond looked almost as good in black as Ranger does, and nobody looks as good in black as Ranger. Last time I saw someone looking as good in black as Ranger he had funky tattoos on his cheeks and was chasing after a mummy across the movie screen

Damn. There had to be a law somewhere stating that it was illegal for that many men, that good looking to be in the same state, much less on the same block. They were a driving hazard, I _know_ that I would have jumped the curb had I been driving. I was literally about to have an orgasm on the spot, and that hadn't happened in a long time. It usually takes at least three minutes.

It was time to get out of there. I had been sitting in my truck staring at them long enough to attract attention, besides Elvis wasn't there and I had to find him if I wanted to pay the rent. Or else I'd be moving back in with Morelli, and then his Grandma Bella would be planning our wedding. I had a bad feeling about Elvis, one of those finding dead bodies and having people shooting at me bad feelings. Maybe Connie had some little stuff for me, something to put food in the fridge while I tried to figure out what to do about Elvis.

We stopped at the McDonald's drive-through on our way back to the office. I got a milkshake and a Big Mac; Bob got two hamburgers. His were gone before we got out of the parking lot; I was finishing up as I parked in Vinnie's lot. Connie hadn't moved from her chair, though now she examining her mustache in a mirror instead of applying more makeup. It must be about time for her electrolysis again. Lula was at work, back behind the filing cabinets continuing with the morning's story about her weekend. I was jealous.

"Back already?" Connie looked up, her teased hair bobbing with the movement.

"Elvis had left the building. Do you have any more information on him, favorite hangouts, parents, siblings?"

"Nada. Elvis was Elvis's life." Connie was looking through the file again, shaking her head at the form Postolli had filled out when Vinnie posted bond. "Only thing listed here is a cousin, in Colorado."

I shivered; I was not going to Colorado. Elvis was just going to have to wait until Ranger got back from Puerto Rico. I'd heard stories about Colorado; it was supposed to be cold in Colorado and with no beaches to make up for it in the summer. Nope, I was not doing Colorado.

"Hmmm, no address listed for the cousin, though. Just Denver." She looked up at me, eyes snapping in humor. "Not enough information to send you out there on."

"Ranger, maybe. Not me." Ranger was the shit; he knew everybody and everything. He probably had the cousin's address in his Rolodex back at the Bat Cave. If not, he probably knew enough people in Denver to have the cousin's address waiting for him at the airport when he got there, if not the cousin himself. Ranger was also known as Ricardo Carlos Manoso, former Special Forces. He had a body that looked like it was carved from granite and an ass you wanted to sink your teeth into. He's multilingual, speaking both ghetto and stockbroker, can usually be found in all black and has been recently growing his hair back out. He listed an empty lot on his employment application, a homeless shelter on his driver's license and has an office in one of the most prestigious building in Trenton. And nobody knew where the Bat Cave was. "When's he getting back?"

"He's on the phone with Vinnie now; he's either asking for an extension on his time or saying he's bringing his perp home early. My money's on bringing the guy in early." So that's why Vinnie's door is closed. And here I though he was shaking hand with Mr. Happy. At least there were no barnyard animal noises coming from the other side of the door, but then, Joyce's SUV wasn't in the lot.

"You have any quick pick-ups I can work on, while I try to figure out where Postolli is?"

"Your favorite, Clarence Sampson missed his court date again. You should find him wandering down the street near his place." Now Clarence I could do. He was one of the family drunks; usually fell asleep in the car on the way to the station. It was just a question of what to do with Bob.

"I'll have to leave Bob here, but it shouldn't take too long."

"No problem, long as he don't eat no more fake plants."

I gave Lula an innocent look as I headed out the door; I didn't know anything about Bob's sudden appetite for plastic plants.


	3. Someone else's vehicle gets toasted

Clarence wasn't too hard to find and I called it a day after dropping him off at the station. An easy couple hundred dollars, enough to make me feel like I had accomplished something. I spent the rest of the afternoon studying James Postolli's profile and photo. The cosmic breakthrough I had been hoping for never came.

When morning did, however, I hit the town with the list of people Elvis had performed for before he decided to hit the big time. Every single one of them was a dead end. The consensus was that he was a mediocre performer, pleasant enough guy, but never hung around after he was through with his act. He had no local following, performed every now and then at open mikes and rarely mingled with other musicians when he did. If I didn't know better I would have said he was a ghost.

I had just finished speaking to the last person on my list when my cell phone rang. It wasn't Joe, nor was it Lula or even Ranger. I wasn't sure who it was, at first.

"I hear you been looking for me."

"Mr. Postolli?" My first instinct was to lock the doors on my truck, and then I looked around me. I couldn't see anyone that matched his description or anyone suspicious looking for that matter. "My name is Stephanie Plum. I work for-"

"I know who you are. And just forget about it. Tell Vinnie he's out his money. I ain't gonna do the jailhouse rock."

"Now, Mr. Postolli, all you have to do is go to the police station and reschedule your hearing. That doesn't mean that you will be going to jail."

"No, I told ya. I ain't goin'. And if you keep looking for me, I'll show you what I can really do."

For some reason I wasn't as scared as I probably should have been. Perhaps it was because threats on my life were nearly a daily occurrence these days. Perhaps it was because I was safely locked in the truck with Bob. Either way, I felt safe enough to drive to Vinnie's.

Lula was just arriving with a big box of donuts so I knew I had timed it perfectly. I gave Connie the body receipt for Clarence and grabbed a donut from the box.

I really should have known better than to look up when I hear the door open. Lula saw them first, and her only comment was "Hubba, hubba." The fact that Connie was drooling powered doughnut down her two sizes too small hot pink sweater was another sign. What can I say; I'm a glutton for punishment – just look at my relationships with Morelli and Ranger to figure that one out. Their first comment was a yelp when Bob went to greet them, followed by a melt-you-into-a-puddle-of-mush accent.

"Will someone kindly remove the olfactory organ of this monstrosity from my personal body space?"

It was them, all seven of them. Connie was openly drooling on her desk and Lula was muttering "eny meeny miny moe" under her breath. Bob had gotten a bit too friendly with one of the shorter ones of the seven, the one who looked like he had stepped out from a GQ ad. The mustached guy and the kid were openly laughing as their friend tried to remove Bob's nose from his crotch, while blondie and the other three also looked to find it pretty amusing. I really hated to, I much rather would have stayed there drooling, but I felt that I should intervene. I grabbed the donut box and held out a donut.

"Bob," I waved the donut a few times to get his attention, though he was on his way over to me as soon as he got a whiff of it. He passed up the donut, inhaling the entire box before you could say goner. All that was left was dusting of white powder across his nose and a piece of cardboard on his lower lip. I just shrugged, and took a bite out of the donut I was still holding.

"Damn," mustache said, elbowing the younger man in the side, "that dog's got as much of a sweet tooth as Junior does."

"I don't know," the big one commented as he looked at the longhaired guy. "I've seen Vin pack away a lot of sweets; through he tends to stick to chocolate."

That was as far as I got in their conversation, for the tall black guy suddenly rounded into me. "I can't believe that you fed your dog that box of donuts. Don't you know anything about proper canine nutrit-"

Bob chose that minute to introduce himself to him, the old fashioned way – snout up the ass. He jumped - the man, not the dog - and turned to his laughing friends. I chose now to stand up for Bob and his odd eating habits. "At least he just ate the donuts and box. He usually goes for rubber plants and furniture."

"You were at Postolli's yesterday, weren't you?" Blondie was suddenly all business, his companions immediately sobered up, though the mustached guy and the kid both continued to grin.

"Yeah, he's FTA, I went to see if he's home."

"Yer a bounty hunter?" Long Hair looked me up and down, not quite sure if he really believed it.

"Yeah, gotta problem with it?"

"Nah, just not what I was expecting. I though that Frankie DeFrancis worked for Vincent Plum."

"He does, he's in West Virginia on a trace, can I help you with something?"

"Chris Larabee, ATF. I need to speak with Mr. Plum about a bond he posted for Mr. Postolli." Great, they're Feds. The last time I dealt with Feds one was constantly letting himself into my apartment and I ended up crawling around in Morelli's backyard with Mary Lou trying to find out if he was cheating on me with Terry Gilman.

"Vinnie's busy right now," Connie informed them, behind her Lula started cracking up as she pretended to file. Sure Vinnie was busy. I know what Vinnie does when he's busy.

"And when will Vinnie be available?" Blondie, er – Larabee, wasn't looking too happy now. I was contemplating that fact that he definitely looked as scary as Ranger when pissed when I noticed a heard sound from the parking lot.

KABOOM! Everyone spun around to see large fireball appear in the parking lot. I wasn't surprised, but I was happy. Bob was good luck after all, 'cause that wasn't my truck.

"Son of a bitch!" Larabee swore as they watched his rental truck burn brightly in the lot. I grabbed his arm before he headed out into the parking lot.

"Uh-uh, you don't want to go out there. It's too late to save anything and it'll take weeks for your eyebrows to grow back. Trust me, personal experience."

"You've had a car blow up before?"

"She's had a car blow up many times. The best was when the garbage truck fell over on the Porsche after it was bombed." Lula nodded her head as she spoke while moving to a window for a better view, she'd been along that time. "Just proves that the more expensive the car, the more impressive the fire. Though the time her truck was taken out with an antitank missile was pretty good, too."

"This happens to you on a regular basis?" The big, older guy asked in amazement. I nodded, pretending not to notice that they all took a step back away from me. The only car I'd kept for an extended period of time - more than three days - without it blowing up was Big Blue and I hated that Buick.

"She also barbeques other people's cars, too. You shoulda been here that time when she caught the carpet car on fire, that was a fire. These two guys were following her around, 'cause Ranger was FTA and their boss was looking for him and thought that Stephanie would find him on account of he trained her and they kinda got this 'thing' going on sometimes. Only she didn't want them following her around cause she was helping Ranger prove he didn't kill Ramos. So we did the dog shit in the paper bag thing, only it was a fried chicken bucket and when Mitchell kicked the bucket it hit the carpet on the car and it caught on fire." Lula stopped to take a breath, only to be interrupted by the longhaired man that Connie had been visibly restraining herself from jumping.

"Ranger trained you?" If he spoke with disbelief, it didn't surprise me. Ranger was the man when it came to bounty hunting and all other gray areas of the law. Me, I was more like the one of the keystone cops without a partner.

"Yeah, I did. It was Professor Higgins and Eliza Dolittle does Trenton." Ranger may have spoken softly, but everyone in the room heard him. Ranger doesn't need to talk loud; he gets his point across with just a look. Kinda like Larabee. I'd noticed the similarities earlier, but now, as two very alpha males faced off, they became much more apparent. I just hoped that Vinnie's office survived; otherwise I'd be looking for a new job. Ranger, however, apparently though he was invincible 'cause he decided to ignore Larabee. "Nice barbeque."

I rolled my eyes so far that I could see my hairline. "Wasn't my truck, they're the ones who did something to piss someone off this time."

"Really?" I hated it when he did that. That whole one eyebrow cocked 'are you so sure about that' look. The look that reminded me about the phone call I had gotten earlier. Damn. Larabee was going to kill me now.

"Weeeell," I drew out the word as long as possible, giving Ranger him the best Plum glare I could muster. While it had nothing on that glare Larabee was shelling out earlier, I could usually do some damage on some people, usually first time offenders. Saved by the bell, or rather my cell phone. I had a feeling I knew who it was and pulled it out.

"Hello." No heavy breathing, maybe I was wrong.

"Stephanie, it's your mother. What this I hear about you blowing up another car? Joey Lilinski's mother just called and told me he had just called and told her that a truck blew up in front of Vinnie's." Damn. The cops and firetrucks weren't even here yet and already the word had made it through the Burg. "Was that your car?"

"No, actually it..." Not that she bothered to give me a chance to answer.

"Are you sure? Janice Marek called and told me they're hiring at the button factory. You could get a good job at the button factory and not have this happen to you." I could feel my eyes glazing over, and saw the smirk on Ranger's face. He knew exactly who it was. "Shelly Mynkowitz's daughter works at the button factory and she never has cars blow up or people shooting at her." That was it, I was hanging up.

"Listen, I got to go." I hit the disconnect button before she could start telling me about the job openings at the make-up counter at Macy's. Glaring at Ranger, I warned him, "Not a word."

He ignored me, of course. "Job openings at the button factory? Or was it the perfume counter?"

That was it. I hadn't had a particularly bad day, besides the whole striking out on Postolli, but I had a feeling it was going to get a lot worse. Call it women's intuition. Call it a sixth sense. But the fact that Larabee's rental truck was a black Dodge like mine, only newer, probably had a lot to do with the fact that it just went kaboom. My nerves were at their limits, so I did the only rational thing I could thing of. I threw my phone at Ranger. It rang just as he caught it.

"Yo." His face was expressionless as he listened to whatever the caller had to say. I figured it wasn't Grandma Mazur, he'd be the one rolling his eyes if it was. The caller stopped talking and he looked up at me, eyes hard. "I'm calling Tank, he'll get you to a safe house."

"Excuse me?" Great, Ranger was dictating orders to me again. And our seven gorgeous visitors were alternating between watching the two of us, Long Hair grinning like a fool. Damn them, damn Ranger and damn Elvis Postolli. "Did I say I was going to a safe house?"

"Doesn't matter. James Postolli may be the one who's mad at you, but he's not smart enough to take a missile-launcher to your truck, much less get his hands on one. His cousin is. And Elvis is just dumb enough to not tell his cousin which truck is yours."

"Damn," Larabee swore. "Then Steve Postolli's here in Trenton and he has his loot." He turned to his merry men. "Ezra, start talking to your contacts in the area, find out what you can about any shipments of army surplus to the neighborhood. JD, start hacking, see if you can find Postolli's bank account, either of them. Buck, Josiah, you two start checking with your contacts back home, see if anything about Postolli is in the air. Nathan, talk to the Army, find out if they've got anything else missing and just what it is. Vin, you're with me."

Connie was drooling again, Lula was eyeing them and even Ranger looked impressed. I was inching towards the door, hoping Connie would forgive me for leaving Bob behind. I refused to go to a safehouse. If I went into a safehouse, Joyce would end up barking like a dog in Vinnie's office. And then she'd get Postolli's file and authorization to bring him in. Hell. She'll probably turn up and bark a few times and get the file regardless of if I ended up in a safehouse.


	4. Nice young men?

I was half-way back to my apartment when my cell rang. I let out a long suffering sigh - half wishing Bob was there to commiserate with - upon seeing Ranger's number and wondered if I could get away with not answering. Of course, knowing Ranger he'd have his SWAT team on my ass in minutes, so I answered.

"Babe, you're skipping out on all the fun."

"Ha ha, Ranger."

"Tank'll be picking you up in twenty minutes at your apartment. I suggest you be there." He hung up before I could respond, though the cab of my truck was filled with curses.

Mrs. Williams, one of my neighbors from down the hall, was hobbling out to her car when I pulled into my parking lot. She waved as enthusiastically as an 80 year old can, trying to get me to come over. Knowing my luck she just wanted to show me her newest gun – all the seniors in my apartment had guns and they were all bigger than mine.

"There's a nice young man waiting outside your door for you." She beamed, no doubt hoping for some good gossip to spread across the 'Burg before I got my door unlocked.

I, on the other hand, was a bit nervous. Nice young men do not hang out outside my apartment waiting for me. Instead they leave calling cards, of dead bodies on my couch or bombs tossed through my window variety. Nice young man my foot.

In times like these one has to make a decision. Go up and get shot at, or stay and wait for backup. Granted backup was actually coming to drag me off somewhere unknown, but it was still backup. The wuss in me wanted to wait on Tank. But the realist knew that Tank was just going to grab me and drive off – no checking out nice young men. Looks like I was going up.

I decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. That way, if he was watching the elevator I'd come up behind him. Thankfully Dillon, the super, had just oiled the hinges on the door to the stairwell, since Mrs. Balrog had taken to complaining about the noise again. Coming out on my floor, vowing to start running again, I could see a very definite 'Elvis' hairstyle standing in front of my door – watching the elevator. Reaching in my pocketbook I grabbed my tazer and crept up behind him. I was nearly there, just inches away, when I stepped on the old creaky board outside my door. He jumped, turning around and into my tazer just as I zapped him. Down he went, shot from his gun going wild into the molding along the ceiling. Instantly all my neighbors were at their doors, guns trained on me. Ignoring them, I cuffed Postolli. The day was already looking up.

Leaving him in an unconscious pile outside my front door, I dashed inside. Rex got a few carrots in his cage as I rushed through the kitchen. If I was going to be forced into hiding, which is what Tank would do regardless of the mass of human flesh on my doorstep, I refused to go unprepared. I need the essentials – shampoo, hairspray, hairdryer and curling iron – if I was going to live in that safehouse. One top of the toiletries I tossed my sexiest underwear – just in case – and something other than my usual jeans and a flannel.

I returned to the front door to be greeted by the sight of a man who looked as though brick walls wouldn't survive the impact if he ever chose to walk into them. Tank had arrived and he was starting down at Postolli where he lay on my doorstep. "Is that..."

"Yep, have time to swing by the station?"

He quirked an eyebrow and pulled out his cell. I rolled my eyes and prodded Elvis with the toe of my hiking boot, trying to discern if he was waking up or just having a slight seizure. I could hear his conversation with Ranger as I tried to make my oh-so-important decision. "Interesting development. Stephanie's got Elvis."

He glanced down at the passed out perp, then over at me with a sly smile crossing his features. "Looks she hit him with her zapper. We'll take him by the police before meeting up with the rest of you."

After hanging up, he hoisted Postolli up over his shoulder and headed to the elevator. I damn near had to run to keep up with him and his cargo. I'm certain we broke a half a dozen traffic laws on our way to the station, where Ranger and Larabee and Long Hair were keeping Costanza company by the back door.

"Nice job, Babe," Ranger said, nodding to Tank who was carrying a convulsing Postolli in and dropping him on a bench. I handed the paperwork to the docket lieutenant and turned my catch of the day over to the authorities. As much as I wanted to wash my hands of the whole affair, I had a feeling it was not even close to being over. And I was right.

The minute the paperwork left my hand and I was given the body receipt, Ranger had grabbed me by the elbow and led me to his jeep, Larabee and long hair climbing in behind us. No one said a word until we reached a hotel in the heart of the business district.

At the hotel, a round of introductions was finally made. I paid attention as best I could, though I was first to admit to suffering from hormonal overload. They had brought Bob with them and he was playing, or as close to playing as a lazy dog came, with the kid, whose name was JD. Mustache was teasing them both, before sidling over to me. "How do you do. Your name's Stephanie? I'm Buck Wilmington. How does a beautiful woman like you end up a bounty hunter?"

"Buck." Larabee's tone held a warning to it and Mustache moved back to teasing the kid. Larabee finished the round of introductions, pointing out that GQ was named Ezra, long-hair was Vin, the big bear of a guy was Josiah and the health nut who worried about Bob's eating habits was Nathan. I barely had the chance to get all that down before they started reporting in to him.

I generally ignored them while they did; instead concentrating on this new mess I've managed to get myself into. While I didn't mind on an aesthetic level being shut up in a hotel room with eight drool-worthy men, I had a feeling that I wasn't going to enjoy this much. And I do hate it when I'm right.

They had barely finished reporting in to Larabee when the plan came to light. Word was already out on the street that Steve Postolli wanted to 'talk' with me. It was the whole 'dead or alive' part of 'talking' that worried me. And it soon became apparent that me talking to him was going to be part of the trap. Apparently GQ, er Ezra, was an undercover agent and had set up a time for him and Tanner to meet with Postolli. Reason being that they had gotten their hands on me and were going to turn me over to him in exchange for some 'product.' I, myself, wasn't too excited about this plan. But not only were Larabee and his merry men going to be lying in wait to capture Postolli, but Ranger said he'd have his team of rogues there as well. That was almost a relief. The whole 'dead or alive' thing still worried me, though.

* * *

The warehouse we were meeting them in was definitely of the abandoned type and I couldn't help but wonder just how cliched the elder Postolli was. My arms were behind my back, though Vin and Ezra left the cuffs unlocked, so it was all just for show until Postolli showed up. Bob plodded along next to Tanner, less than excited to be here as opposed to partaking in his afternoon napping marathon.

We hadn't been there long when a black Mercedes pulled on in. Several men stepped out and approached us, one in particular glaring at me so fiercely I knew he had to be Elvis's brother. I found myself wondering just how soon Larabee and his men would be showing up. My musings were cut short, however, by Ezra – who was suddenly lacking an accent. I swear that Tanner winked at me and my dumbfounded look before turning a poker face to Postolli and his thugs.

"Mr. Postolli, I see you got my message."

"Is that her?" Postolli demanded, gesturing to me.

"Of course, Mr. Postolli. You did specify that you wished to speak with Ms. Plum for some reason. I even managed to get her dog as well."

"I wouldn't exactly say I wish to speak with her," Postolli sneered, walking over to where I stood. "Let's just say that my cousin is back in jail and I want revenge."

He had his gun out by now and I could feel my knees knocking together. I've stared down the barrel of a gun more than a few times in my years as a bounty hunter, but it's something I'd never been comfortable with. Ezra interrupted him, however, before he could get any further. "Now, Mr. Postolli, you do understand my proposal?"

Postolli turned and glared at him, angry to be interrupted during his extraction of revenge. "Of course. Why else do you think I asked you to meet here? The guns you requested are in those crates."

He gestured vaguely with his gun and glared at Tanner who stepped in front of me, but backed down while Standish walked over to inspect the merchandise. "You also understand that I'll need to inspect these before I turn Ms. Plum over to you."

The arms dealer acquiesced as his bodyguards opened the crates so Standish could look over the guns, but he made sure to stay near me and Tanner. Standish took his time, pulling several different weapons from each of the crates. He held each of them up in the light, looking them over for any signs of defects. He refused to acknowledge Postolli's growing impatience as he went through his inspection.

When Standish did finally put the last of the guns away, Postolli damn near gave a sigh of relief. I'm sure he did at Standish's next words.

"I daresay these are satisfactory, Mr. Postolli. I believe we have a deal."

"Good. It's time for me to deal with this bitch." To my dismay, the gun was back in my face. Any actions on his part were interrupted by Larabee's men shouting for everyone to drop their weapons. Before I could move out of the line of fire, I was pushed to the ground as Postolli was tackled and disarmed. Looking up at the men running in various directions around me, I decided the floor was a great place to stay – rolling out of the way as men with guns converged around me. Bob apparently agreed with me, slobbering all over my face before settling on the ground next to me.

Eventually all the bad guys were rounded up and Steve Postolli was thankfully out of my life. Tank and the rest of Ranger's SWAT team loaded themselves into their various black vehicles. The ATF team had called up their Trenton counterparts to arrange Postolli's transport to Federal prison and eventually to Denver, and Ranger didn't particularly want his men around to catch any flack. After spending some time watching Larabee glare unfortunate Trenton fed into submission, I looked up to see Ranger standing above me. He was looking at Bob with a look of what was the closest I've ever seen him come to awe on his face.

"That's quite the dog you've got there, Babe."

"Huh?"

"Your dog," Wilmington said, coming over. "Who do you think knocked you down when Postolli tried to take a shot at you?" The rest of team seven nodded in agreement as they made their way over to us, several of the guys stopping to pet Bob.

And Bob just sat there reveling in all the positive attention he was getting for once. I leaned over to pet him myself, garnering another slobbery doggie kiss.

"Good boy, Bob. From now on you get all the doughnuts you want."


End file.
